Finding Home: A Teaser to the Conclusion
by KatharineC
Summary: Settling into a Minnesota farm house may be more difficult for MacGyver than he anticipated. This is the first chapter TEASER for the conclusion of this trilogy.


Finding Home: A Teaser to the Concluding Book in the Trilogy

**Chapter One**

_Ever feel like you're on top of the world? I did the night Beth kissed _me_. I'm just glad she didn't watch me dance through the snow all the way home! But somehow, when it comes to women, things seem to have a way of going haywire._

MacGyver took his front steps in one bound, leaping over the slippery wooden steps to the porch. He had a grin a mile wide on his face, and hope in his heart. Inside the old house, he warmed his hands on the dying fire, then moved the remaining dishes from his romantic dinner with Beth to the kitchen for cleanup and delivery to the caterers tomorrow. Usually, they cleaned up after a job, but he'd requested that the caterers get lost as soon as dinner had been served. The dishes piled in soapy water for the night, he locked up, then headed for bed – and lots of sweet dreams, he hoped.

He hoped. Mac shook his head, then grinned as he sat on the bed and pulled off his shoes then socks. Ever since he met Beth Reardon, the widow across the street, he'd been unable to take his mind off of her – even while he planned his wedding to Maria. He shook his head again. Maria – beauty, brains, and treachery. He couldn't understand why he never saw it before. But then again, he always expected more purity out of women than you could reasonably expect from half of the human population. Well, he was certainly learning to curb that! He winced. It wasn't so long ago, that he belted a woman and knocked her out cold – on purpose!

But Beth. The sexual magnets that drew them together were of colossal size, and seemed to be growing exponentially. And if that wasn't enough, her soul was as sweet as her face. When he first met her, she seemed to be unattainable, still consumed with grief for her dead husband. So, he'd turned to Maria out of some perverse need to have a life partner.

He supposed it was his version of a mid-life crisis. He never seemed to feel the passage of years until Sam found him. All of a sudden, he was a DAD! A father of a nineteen year old MAN! Maybe it would have been easier to accept if Sam had been a baby, or even a toddler like Molly, but NO! Sam was a full grown, sexually active, strong as hell MAN!

Mac remembered kidding his friend Paul about turning forty, but not admitting he'd done that himself a few years ago – well before Paul. Was he really that vain about his age? Mac chuckled. "Sorry about that Paul," he whispered, still missing and grieving for his old friend who recently passed away. No. Was murdered. All because of another woman's treachery. Mac unbuttoned his shirt. He was still glad he socked that woman!

But Beth. Now _she_ was a woman of character. He slipped out of his trousers and climbed into bed, then tucked his arms under his head and stared at the ceiling. Every day he spent with her was a delight. He loved the way she blushed, the way she chewed on her lower lip when she got nervous. He loved her curves – so unlike the Twiggy-like form women seemed to want to emulate. He smiled again remembering the expanse of shapely leg she exposed when she fell the other day, and the brief, tantalizing glimpse of her breasts as he helped her to her feet! Sweet! His sucked in his breath remembering the way her lips felt against his, the feel of those breasts pushed against his chest. Oh, man. He slowly breathed out. "I've got it bad," he muttered to himself, then turned out the light.

**Chapter Two**

MacGyver groaned and dragged his pillow over his head as the phone by the bed continued to ring. His answering machine was usually one of the first things he hooked up when he moved into a new place, but he'd only been back in Mission City for less than a week. He hadn't even unpacked the blasted thing. He peeked out from under the pillow and glanced at the clock radio on his night stand – five in the morning.

"Got to be a wrong number," he mumbled then turned over. The phone continued to ring. He sighed, then turned back and jerked it off its hook. "Hello," he spit into the receiver, his eyes clamped shut.

"Mac? Is that you? I can hardly tell you and Sam apart sometimes."

"Uh, Pete, yeah, it's me. Do you have any idea what time it is here?" MacGyver mumbled.

"Yeah, I do," his long time friend, and former boss, Peter Thornton answered.

"What do you want, Pete?"

"I wanted to remind you to come pick me up at the Mission City Municipal Airport for that fishing trip. Now, you do remember it's in three weeks, right? I sent you my flight schedule."

"What?" MacGyver had invited Pete to go come over and go fishing, but Pete flatly refused saying he was not about to stand outside in the dead of winter in Minnesota with his feet in the water. The trip would have to wait until the weather warmed up. They certainly never set a date, nor did Pete send him any flight schedule.

"Uh, Pete,"

"Gosh, MacGyver, I'm sorry. I'm just learning to use this touch clock. I read the time wrong. It's a lot earlier than I thought. I'll talk to you soon." There was a click and the line went dead.

MacGyver stared at the receiver for a minute. He wasn't exactly sure who was more confused – him or Pete. Why would Pete remind him to pick him up at the airport for a flight that wasn't scheduled. Unless....

Dread rushed through MacGyver. He turned on the light and grabbed his telephone book from the night stand drawer. He flipped though the pages until he found the number for flight information at the local airport and dialed, then hung before the second ring. If Pete was trying to send him a message, it meant Pete believed either his or MacGyver's telephone was bugged. MacGyver turned over the phone and examined the back, then started to unscrew the receiver, but changed his mind. He'd deal with it later.

He grabbed jeans and a sweat shirt, quickly tied on his sneakers then retrieved his wallet and keys from last night's pants. He paused downstairs just long enough to slip on his parka, gloves and wool cap before rushing into the light snow to his truck. Weather like this made him miss his old Jeep, but the truck, with its snow tires, got better traction than the Nomad.

The municipal airport was mainly a commuter airport for flights between Mission City and Minneapolis. It only had two gates. Between the gates was the large combined check-in/ waiting room/ viewing port/ diner. If Pete was calling from the airport, as MacGyver suspected, he should be easy enough to find.

MacGyver slipped through the front sliding glass doors and stopped to scan the traffic. Minnesotans were accustomed to bad weather, and the airport was equipped to handle it, so quite a few travelers milled around the wide room waiting for early morning flights, or strolled toward one of the two gates. He didn't see Pete, so he headed deeper into the airport, looking in all directions as he went. He finally found him seated in one of the seats adjacent to a bank of telephones, his red-tipped cane clutched in his right hand, a small suitcase at his feet, his fishing rod case clutched with his left hand.

"Pete," MacGyver called out as he jogged over. At his approach, Pete stood and let the fishing rod case dangle by its handle.

"MacGyver, I'm sorry about the ruse – glad you picked up on it," Pete quietly answered with a smile as they clutched each other in a brief embrace. "I don't know what I would have done if you didn't."

"Pete, what's wrong? What are you doing here? And why couldn't you just tell me to come get you?" MacGyver asked, his hands still on his friend's shoulders.

"Not here. We have to talk, but it needs to be somewhere safe," Thornton answered quietly, his face grim.

"Then let's get you back to my house."

"Is Sam there?" Pete asked as MacGyver picked up the suitcase, then slid his hand into the crook of Pete's arm.

"Sam? No. He's at school. Why?"

Pete shook his head. "Later."

MacGyver led Pete through the airport. Outside, he cautioned his nearly blind friend about the slippery sidewalk, then asked, "What's with all the cloak and dagger, Pete?"

Pete just shook his head. "Wait."

MacGyver helped Pete into the truck. As he climbed onto the driver's seat, he looked at

Pete who shook his head and put his fingers to his lips.

MacGyver put the car into gear and steered out of the pick-up lane. As they drove through town, Pete gabbed nonstop about how excited he was about fishing and how he couldn't wait to see Mac's new place. While he chatted, Pete pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, along with a pen. He scribbled something, then put the paper within MacGyver's line of sight.

Mac read the note, nodded, then cruised through the streets until he came to Speedy's garage. He pulled into the parking lot, then left the motor running while he jimmied open the front door. Inside, he jogged through the garage, calling out to Speedy in case the garage owner had come in early for work. He found an empty bay and rolled open the bay door, then returned to drive the truck into the garage, then closed the bay door. "This is an auto repair shop," MacGyver explained as he helped Pete from the truck then led him toward a makeshift waiting room with chairs, an ashtray and a soda machine.

"MacGyver, that's breaking and entering," Pete scolded as he tapped his cane on the cement floor.

MacGyver waved it off. "Speedy's a friend. He won't mind. Now, Pete. Is this place safe enough for you?" Pete nodded as he sat.

"Good. Then you want to tell me what's going on?"

Pete nodded. "The CIA and Interpol have been picking up a lot of chatter on the terrorist grapevine the last few weeks. There's something big in the works. Cells from all over Europe are making alliances and feeding each other information. Neither intelligence organization has been able to identify the end goal, but they've picked up some interesting sideline intel."

MacGyver gritted his teeth, and shook his head. "Ah, Pete. I'm retired. Please don't ask..."

Pete interrupted him. "I didn't come to ask you to work on terrorist activity, Mac. I came to warn you."

"Warn me? What for?"

"One of the messages Interpol intercepted between the cells concerned you. The terrorist cell you briefly infiltrated during your last trip to Great Britain seems to be playing a central role in the upswing in the terrorist chatter. From what we gather through Interpol, the British cell is involved in weapons trading, transfer of information between cells, and assassinations. That sound right to you?" Pete asked.

At MacGyver's nod, Pete placed his hand on his friend's arm. "They've named you as the assassin of two of their men, and as a central player in the CIA."

"But I don't work for the CIA!"

"Tell that to the terrorists," Pete answered. "Mac, Interpol recovered a full dossier on you that a ranking member of that British cell had in his possession. It covers your entire career from the time you graduated from college until now. Your military history, skills training, DXS, _and_ the work that, _according to you_, you _didn't_ do for the CIA. It also includes sensitive information about you from the Phoenix Foundation files, as well as bits of recorded conversations between you and me _inside_ the Foundation, as well as other calls on your home phone in Los Angeles – _recent_ conversations. You've been bugged, Mac and Interpol and the CIA believe it is the British cell that's behind it."

MacGyver shoved his hands into his pockets. He cursed under his breath. "Why?"

Pete leaned forward, his face earnest. "Interpol says that someone's put a hit on you, Mac – probably the British terrorist cell. "

Pete continued. "Since the cell apparently has an inside track into the Foundation, I had to come up with a way of warning you without them knowing that we were on to them. I also couldn't take the risk that they managed to bug your new place or vehicles. I figured if they thought I was coming up for a scheduled fishing trip, they wouldn't be concerned. No one but Nikki knows why I'm really here."

Mac sighed. "Why do they want to mess with me? If they've been researching me as much as you say, then they know I'm retired now – I'm no threat."

Pete peered into MacGyver's face. "I don't think they care."

MacGyver leaned against the worn maple paneling that backed the waiting area, took a deep breath then blew it out. His cheeks puffed out along with the air.

Pete continued. "Like I said, that British cell holds you responsible for the deaths of two of their operatives, and they're angry. If you ask me, more so than you would think. But then again, they're thugs, Mac – not some nation's organized espionage ring. Interpol and New Scotland Yard have rounded up several of their people, but all they've been able to find out is that the cell hired an assassin named Grendel to take you out."

"What especially concerns me, Mac, is that it appears that someone within the Phoenix Foundation is supplying the cell with information about you. That means they know where you live now."

"You've still got a spy within the Foundation." MacGyver stated softly.

Pete nodded. "Nikki's working on it, but so far we have no clue who it is."

"Mac. This assassin – Grendel. He's bad – really bad. Interpol has tied him to the assassinations of at least twenty diplomats and humanitarians in Great Britain, Germany, France, and Japan. He seems to target diplomats who advocate democratic freedoms in communist ruled countries. Why he broke form and took the contract on you, we don't know. We also don't know what he looks like, or his nationality – only that he's only been in operation, as best as we can tell for about ten years."

MacGyver nodded. "I've heard of him."

"There's one more thing, Mac." Pete sighed, then shook his head. "Grendel has orders to hurt you before he kills you."

"That usually goes hand in hand, Pete."

"No, not like this, Mac. Along with your dossier, Grendel apparently has a list of your friends and... your family."

"Sam." MacGyver whispered. Pete nodded.

"Are you on the list, Pete?" Pete nodded.

"Jack?"

"Yes."

MacGyver looked wearily at his friend. "Who else, Pete?"

"Penny Parker and three other women that were prominent in your phone calls from L.A. to here – Mimi Davidison, Ginny Putnum, Beth Reardon, and a child named Molly Reardon.


End file.
